


Love or Lesser Things

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Eric shook his head. “No, no, Kyle, this isn’t going to work if you keep talking.” He really didn’t think he could handle hearing that annoying voice much longer. He expected Kyle to complain, to fight. He didn’t expect “then shut me up.” </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love or Lesser Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mostlyharmless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlyharmless/gifts).



> I’m sorry darling, I don’t think it turned out how you expected it to, aaaaaa.

Love hurt a lot when he was younger. When he was older, it came in flashes, in visions of _you’re happy without me, you’re always going to be happy without me_ , in sears of pain that vanished within moments.

Over time, most of his other feelings became less powerful. They simmered, dull, as usual as the crowds in the streets or town hall meetings. Some days, he did nothing but lie on the floor, too exhausted mentally to do anything productive. Starting wars seemed impossible. That thought would have pissed off the younger Eric Cartman. No constant fight or drive. But adolescent weariness permeated him often now. He hated the new normal.

He rolled onto his side, and looked up at the window. It was dark, and although he couldn’t see the moon from his vantage, the light softly illuminated the room. The desk, electronics, and lamps were pale ghostly shadows. Clothes and mementos were those dark figures that watched when the lights were off. If Eric were younger, it would have scared him, but at newly eighteen, not much did. Not even Kyle.

Especially not drunk Kyle, stumbling into his room, and breaking him from his reverie.

Eric sat up at the intrusion. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” he barked, and Kyle faltered for a second.

“Dude, Cartman, why aren’t you downstairs?” Kyle’s red hair was muted in the light. He closed the door behind himself.

“Everyone was pissing me off.”

“But … this is _your_ party.”

Eric never knew a gentle hand. He knew how to be spoiled, how to evoke anger. He knew one, two, close your eyes, and smile at the camera and put on a little show for daddy of the week.

He knew hatred.

It meant someone else had to suffer as much, someone else had to die. And how many times had he himself? Not in the same way Kenny always claimed to experience, but in a gutted kind of way.

“Kyle,” he said, motioning the other boy towards him. Kyle hesitantly shuffled closer, and when he was in reach, Eric grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him onto the bed. Kyle was unceremonious, but laughed as he landed.

“Kyle, you’re really wasted.” Kyle was good; he was usually the one Eric pushed all of his hatred onto. Kyle was strong; he could handle it.

“I’m not that bad,” Kyle responded. His legs were bent over the edge of the bed. He looked at Eric. “You should’ve seen Butters. That was some seriously funny shit. Me and Stan were crying. He—” laughed “—was—” again “—Jesus—”

“Shut up, Kyle. You’re giving me a headache.”

“You need a drink, asshole.”

“You need to shut up.” What Eric really needed was to think. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He didn't ask because drunk people tended to have problems with that sort of thing--they didn't. He asked because drunk people tended to laugh too much at that question or grab at the proffered fingers and say dumb things like "squish!" Drunk people were retarded.

“What?”

“How many fucking fingers, Jew?”

Kyle shifted and replied, correctly, “Four.” He didn’t hesitate or giggle or squint in confusion. He was drunk, but not in the stupidly brain-damaged way.

“I guess you’re not that bad after all,” Eric sighed, and met Kyle’s eyes. “Want to hide out here?”

“I got a little … frustrated myself,” Kyle confessed. “It was fun, you know? But like, parties end up so fucking lame. It’s just this contrived way to play stupid games so people can make out and fuck in closets.” He was slurring.

Eric glared. “If anybody is fucking in one of my closets, I swear to God I will smash their faces in.” He didn’t mention it, but he thought his threat seemed like it could have come from his companion. Since Kyle wasn’t replying, he went on. “You’re not like them.” He could test the waters because Kyle was drunk and denial could be swift, if need be.

“I guess not.” Kyle hummed, “Neither are you, though you try to be.”

“Maybe you’re drunker than I thought.”

“Maybe.”

Eric had a vision, and suddenly he felt brilliant again. “Then shut up and let me try something. Here, get on the bed the right way.”

“Ugh, I don’t think I really want to stick around for what you want to try.”

“Oh my God, Kyle, you are seriously pissing me off. Either listen to me or get the hell out of my room!”

After a moment, Kyle complied, and adjusted himself so the two of them were beside each other. He laughed. “The room is spinning.”

“What did you drink?”

“Tequila,” Kyle said, “and whatever was in the cup Kenny gave me.”

“Are you that fucking stupid? Jeez, Kyle, I thought you were the smart one!”

“Kenny wouldn’t give me anything bad. And don’t insult me, fatass.” Good, he still had some bite, albeit weak.

“You’re going to have a bad day tomorrow. Shit will be black.”

“I don’t even care right now.”

Hideous. And very familiar. “You _are_ like them, drinking to escape from something.”

“Mediocrity, maybe.”

“Okay, well that’s just dandy Kyle. Are you going to be quiet now? Headache, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Whatever.”

Eric waited until Kyle’s breathing was slow and quiet. Then he leaned over him and pressed their mouths together.

Kissing Kyle felt like a newly forming scar, like every other time he died for love or lesser things. Dreams lost, decayed.

It hurt, and he didn’t know why.

“Kyle, goddammit, why are you doing this to me?” He asked in the silent aftermath.

“Doing what? You’re doing _this_ to _me_.” Kyle squawked. “What _are_ you doing?”

“It’s called a kiss, you retard.”

“I know what it is. I mean, why are you doing it _to me_?”

“Because I fucking want to. You gonna leave?”

The response took forever, but it was “no.”

“You’re going to let me do whatever I want to you, aren’t you? Those games made you lonely, didn’t they, seeing everyone else hook up. And you came to me, you filthy Jew, because you knew that I could take care of you.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You are so—”

“You have five seconds to leave if you want to pretend nothing happened.” Really, Eric was nervous that Kyle would bolt, then and there, and leave him to hate more, rot more.

One.

“Kyle?” _Answer._

Two.

“Let me.” _Stay, stay, stay, stay._

Three. _Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay, stay, stay._

Four. _Stay, stay, staystaystaystaystaystaystaystaystaystay …_

“Okay.” Kyle nodded, “I’m not leaving.”

That was it, at five, a quiet agreement, and Eric wondered if tequila spoke for Kyle. Or maybe Kyle spoke for Kyle and liquor emboldened him. Either way, Eric got what he wanted.

Eric kissed Kyle again. And again, and again. “I hate you,” he whispered in between. When Kyle stroked the side of his face, Eric stilled.

It stung. It might as well have been a punch in the stomach.

He bit Kyle’s bottom lip, and then something miraculous happened.

“Uh,” Kyle gasped, “Uh, uh … uh.” And once he started, he didn’t stop. He kept moaning, little ‘uh’s with each flick of Eric’s tongue. When Eric nipped at him, Kyle sounded so sweet. For once in his life.

“Shit,” Eric mumbled, and rolled off of him. It wasn’t easy to pull away, but he did. He pushed back his own bangs, and sprung up.

“What—”

“Locking the door. Can’t have anyone walking in on you losing your virginity.”

Kyle’s face contorted. “You always say the stupidest things. You never make sense.”

Eric got back on him, and rocked his hips into the other teen.

“I’m making perfect sense.”

“I’m not a virgin.” Every syllable sounded full of pleasure, still Eric was angry. The five syllables, the jealousy inducing syllables.

“Was it Stan? Give up your ass to that hippie?” He asked with venom, although he really did want to know the answer. Who did Kyle fuck? When? Why didn’t he know about it?

“No. Don’t even go there, Cartman.”

“Whoever it was, I will fuck you better. I will fuck you harder.”

Kyle laughed loudly. “Harder? Why do you think it was a guy? It wasn’t.”

“I refuse to believe that you aren’t a total faggot, Kyle. This is so obvious.”

“I’m pretty sure that you’re the gay one, dude. Like, have been forever.”

Eric shook his head. “No, no, Kyle, this isn’t going to work if you keep talking.” He really didn’t think he could handle hearing that annoying voice much longer.

He expected Kyle to complain, to fight. He didn’t expect “then shut me up.”

Satisfied, Eric caressed Kyle’s face before grabbing his chin and forcing the other boy to look at him.

“Yeah, that’s better. You can be so cute when you don’t talk.”

Kyle glared.

“Let me … I’m just gonna …” Eric kissed Kyle’s neck, and Kyle shivered. “You’re too easy, Kyle.”

“Am not—”

He was silenced by a kiss on the lips. “I need you to be.”

Kyle’s anger seemed to dissipate at that, and when Eric kissed him again, Kyle kissed back.

**——**

Eric wasn’t even the drunk one, but he really couldn’t remember when most of their clothes had become piles on the floor, joining the shadow figures. He still wore his own shirt, for reasons he didn’t want to admit.

He didn’t know how to continue; it wasn’t as if he had lube. He did, however, have the lotion that he jacked off with, and it was going to have to do. He reached for the bottle. It was in close proximity because he had used it not ten minutes before Kyle stumbled into his room.

“How clean are you? I don’t wanna get dirty fingering your Jew ass.” Eric said as he pumped the bottle’s contents into his hands. If Kyle was rather docile before, it ended then. He slapped Eric across the face.

“If you keep insulting me, I will not only leave, but go tell everyone that you’re gay and tried to get with me. And they’ll believe me over you any fucking day, Cartman.”

He had opportunity to do so, too. They both froze when they heard the door handle jiggle. “Kyle, are you in here?” It was Stan, sounding drunk as shit. “Kyle?” He padded around for a little bit, and then they heard him laugh and go back down to the din below. Kyle hadn’t answered him.

Eric smiled at Kyle. “Aw, baby, I was just messing.” He smirked and pushed Kyle back down. He said “There we go, there we go” in the irritating voice he reserved for calming down people and animals. It was so fake, and Kyle scowled at him.

“I hate you too, Cartman.”

“Nah. No one gets you like I do.”

“If you get me, then you being a douche is intentional … yeah, okay, I can buy that.” He admitted with a grin.

“Goddammit Kyle, you’re ruining the moment. Can’t you, I don’t know, just be sexy for once?”

Kyle sighed in exasperation. “Why are you such an asshole, Cartman?”

“It’s how I express my feelings for you.”

**——**

“You sound so slutty right now. You like that, Kyle? You like my fingers in your ass?” Eric asked lewdly, knowing that Kyle in any other situation would knock him flat with a fist. It was amazing, Eric noted pleasantly. Kyle was so tight that Eric’s fat fingers squeezed together from the pressure.

“Gotta stretch that hole, Kyle.”

“Shut up,” Kyle slurred, “Just … shut up.”

“Yeah, you love it, don’t you? Hold on baby, gotta get the condom … gonna make you come on my dick.”

“Shhhh, shhhhh.”

“So fucking turned on.”

“Stop talking.”

“Why? You’re going nuts, Kyle, you’re so into it.”

“Stop, stop talking, ah!”

“Heh.”

**——**

“God, it really wasn’t another guy, was it?” Eric said breathlessly. He was braced above Kyle, who wouldn’t let him go crazy yet.

“I said as fucking much. Don’t move yet.”

“I can’t wait.”

Kyle smiled, just a little. “I know, but try.”

Eric groaned. His dick felt good inside the other boy, and he just wanted to hump into oblivion. Kyle always made everything difficult. This was especially true when he alternately tensed and relaxed around Eric. All Eric could do was whimper.

“Now?” He whined. It worked on his mother, but not on his friends.

“Not yet, Jesus, just … I know it’s not easy, but try not being selfish for once.”

“Shut the hell up. I am being so good to you, you have no idea.” He agreed with his own words, because as much as he hated and wanted to start shit with Kyle, some awful thing was making him think that, perhaps, he could someday be the one that made someone happy, or know love in a way that didn’t hurt.

Wondered if Kyle could be the resilient person always capable of putting up with him.

Or some other traitorous bullshit. Sex made him stupider, he concluded, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t desperate to fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Kyle,” he breathed into the other teen’s hair, “Kyle.”

“Yeah, okay, it’s okay.” The redhead patted Eric’s thick arm, “I’m okay.”

“’Bout freaking time,” Eric said, kissing Kyle on the lips, “Gonna make you come so hard.”

Kyle squinted at the first slow, deep thrusts. “You’re way heavy.”

“I’m—” sigh “—not … fucking … fat … you … stupid … daywalker …”

“Um, ah, yeah … yeah.”

“You can take it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can handle anything, asshole.”

Eric laughed softly, “Best … pun … ever.” He didn’t mind the second smack he received in reply.

**——**

“Don’t ever tell anyone I asked this of you or I will murder you, but … can you … just, say something … nice?”

Eric didn’t even have the nerve to do otherwise. He was so close to coming, hips rolling on instinct, hair matted to his forehead.

“Yeah, uh,” thrust, “I like the beautiful way you look terrible after a fight.”

“… Thanks … I guess.”

“I mean,” thrust, “If you ever, I dunno, hurt after a fight, maybe I can be your …”

“Ah!” Kyle closed his eyes and gritted his teeth; through them: “My what?”

“Your morphine.”

**——**

The condom was tossed to the floor, and Eric was panting, sweating in his T-shirt. Kyle was in no better condition though, come smeared all over his abdomen; Eric had put his huge hands in the mess and made it worse.

Eric thought about things, millions of things, and he vocalized one such thought: “I don’t get it, how everyone else can just write me off, when I got so much going on.”

Kyle closed his eyes, and muttered, into the pillow, “Maybe it’s not because of everyone else. Did you ever think of that? Maybe it’s because of your issues.”

“I was nice to you, _Kyle_ , can’t you, just like, for once in your life, not be _such a Jew_?”

“I really do hate you, Cartman.” Though it was whispered, Eric heard it more clearly than the party underneath them.

It felt like it always did.

It felt like home, like inescapable familiarity. It felt normal.

Love hurt a lot when he was younger. Love hurt a lot, all of the time.


End file.
